Sempre que vier sonhar sobre você
O que não deixar de dar a perceber
Essa e a última vez que deixarei você
Satisfazer meu sono depender
Então não traga mais memorias antes de me dizer

Essa maldição
D'uma vida só
Não me recompensa
De ter um lar pra um só
Enquanto você
Me relembra não
Minha relação
Que me traz memorias
D'uma grande judiação
Entao vem aqui
Essa e a mão
Que me segurou
Na escuridão
De uma grande ilusão
E que dedurou
O meu coração
Na pertubação
Que deixou a marca
De uma ressurreição
E beijou a quem?
Que tivesse lá
Que tivesse só
Mas...

Quando por amor morar comigo
Avisa o inimigo que alguém
Me endoidou sem perceber
Sem ninguém ter me dito porque

Maldi​ç​ã​o (Demo)

Foi ti quem torceu
Pro meu mal
Sem me ver
Procurar
Intenda
Viu? Nada pra contar
Não quero outro lugar
Sem ter de ouvir
Meu lamentar

Lamentar (Demo)

In VENTVRIS VENTIS, Torres de Mello plunges into a stark emotional chamber—a sound-world shaped more by psychological weather than narrative fable. This is not a story told through characters or plot, but through fracture, atmosphere, and emotional sediment. The figure at the album’s center is not a hero or a traveler, but someone trapped in the recursive logic of loss. This is an album about weathering the unweatherable.

Structurally, the work resists climax. There’s no arc, no arrival. Instead, it turns inward, spiraling. Songs hover on a knife’s edge between confession and evasion—phrases blur, repeat, unravel. Traditional song form dissolves into foggy architectures of refrain, echo, and omission. Torres’s technique is built around refusal: refusal of harmonic certainty, of resolution, of rhetorical neatness. Each track leaks into the next like breaths exhaled but never fully released.

Yet the album is far from static. Its charge is subterranean. Tension gathers through subtle melodic recursion, dissonant cadences that never resolve, and lyrics that feel like diary entries caught mid-thought. There’s poetic compression in the phrasing—an economy of heartbreak. Dissonance becomes the language of truth.

Lyrically, Torres leans into ellipsis and impressionism. Words emerge less from formal grammar than from phonetic instinct and emotional cadence. Sentences start and vanish; images flicker more than they land. Language here is intimate, unguarded—Portuguese soaked in regret, desire, and accusation. Words don’t point—they echo. They remain as residues of presence, meant less to be interpreted than to be felt beneath the skin.

Repetition is key—not as chorus, but as mantra, as obsession. Lines return altered, like memories refracted through time. This refusal to move on mirrors the album’s emotional terrain: luto, limerência, maldição—each not just a word, but a locked room the speaker cannot leave.

Thematically, VENTVRIS VENTIS is a record of aftermath. It seeks neither catharsis nor clarity, but remains in the fog that follows rupture. What endures is not resolution, but sediment: longing without object, desire without destination, anger that turns inward. These songs are not about people, but about their imprints—not about relationships, but about their hauntings.

The “you” in these songs is a shapeshifter—sometimes a lover, sometimes a ghost, sometimes the fractured self. Emotion is not aimed—it radiates. The listener is not guided by narrative, but by mood, by texture, by the aftertaste of grief clinging to the voice.

What sets VENTVRIS VENTIS apart in Torres’s work is its radical vulnerability. This is a ruin-poem set to music—eroded, intimate, and unpolished. The album feels unfinished not because it is incomplete, but because it refuses finality. The ventis—the winds—do not point forward. They scatter. They erode memory, unravel form, and dissolve certainty. And within that erosion, Torres’s voice emerges more clearly—more humanly—than ever before.

This is not an album about invention. It is an album about survival. And that survival is not triumphant. It is quiet, unresolved, painful—achingly, beautifully human.

Luto

Soturno

Lamentar

Pot-pourri

Maldição

Solidão

Limerência

Césio

Tu és a morte da luz
Infiltra a carne e mata sem cruz
Pertence a um e escorre por mil
Nova maquiagem que bate fuzil

Caixa de Pandora
Semiaberta quem viu
Descanse em paz pois o mundo partiu

Suado após morte
Calafrio sem assalto

Deitado na rede
As mãos florescentes
Marmita no chão
Sofrendo como um cão

Não é resfriado
Mais forte que febre
Estou bem enjoado
Talvez não fiz o que deve

Césio

Sobrevôo sobre mato morto
Floresta aquarela debaixo de mim
Pescador dentro de quadrado
Vara estreita e o mundo curvado

Avião que não decola
Não tem história na sacola
Como um lago vazio
Eu diria peixe morto em agua fria

Vamo' embora
Este avião vai decolar
E deixará todas as casas sem o teto

Aparente (ft. MODESTI)

Para Milton e Lô (ft. Pjotr)

Torres de Mello is a Brazilian composer who blends the lyricism of MPB with experimental textures and futuristic themes. His music reimagines traditional Brazilian rhythms through poetic lyrics and immersive, often digitally simulated soundscapes. Rooted in heritage yet boldly innovative, his work bridges the organic and the imagined, inviting listeners into evocative new worlds.

Torres de Mello

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